The Angel of Music
by I am the Angel of Music
Summary: This is a sweet little descriptive thing...bad summary, but please read it because my mom burned it out and I need positive feedback. : Oneshot.


THE ANGEL OF MUSIC 

There is an Angel of Music.

He is the most perfect being there ever was.

When I am asleep at night, he glides through the wall, for he has no limitations. He has wings that are, perhaps, twelve feet long, but when he moves them, nothing is disturbed, because he is perfect. He folds these lovely wings and stands by my bedside, watching me sleep. I see him in my dream. He wears only a loose robe, tied at the middle by a soft rope. His face is very beautiful. He has ice-blue eyes that can see inside a person. He looks inside me now, weighing my talent, for he is the Angel of Music and he judges not by appearance.

His entire being is perfectly white, from the most humble feather on his mighty wings to his smooth skin. Imagine a night, in the middle of winter, when it is deep midnight, and you awaken and step outside into a world draped and shimmering with newborn snow. Everything is undisturbed, and you feel as though this could be Heaven. The snow's brilliant white is the color of the Angel's form, and he glows with a nebulous lustre. He has soft white hair that falls unrestrainedly to his shoulders, framing his beautiful face.

He touches my face, and his fingers are cool, but I do not awaken. The tips of his fingers trace the streaks of tears that have fallen that night. He looks into my soul with gently scrutiny, and deems me worthy for the task he has set out to complete. He nods to himself and reaches out, taking my body into his arms. He is hundreds of times as strong as any man or woman on earth. He cradles me tenderly against his chest and stretches his wings, giving them a strong beat.

We pass through the walls of my earthly room. In sleep, I burrow into the Angel, for he is warm and cool at the same time. I breathe his scent, which is like the pure, still smell of that winter night I spoke of. It is, at the same time, nothing, and everything. It is the purest scent in all creation.

As I am so close to him that he lets me absorb some of his purity. My clothes are no longer what I went to sleep in. I am wearing a long, silk gown of the same perfect white. My unruly hair is tamed into its natural curls, softening to the deep brown that it was before my use of chemicals. There is no bit of impurity on my skin any longer. The Angel also reaches into my soul, and his beauty caresses my heart, easing the pain of its scars and bruises. The tears that were on my face are not there anymore.

We reach the vast, vast ocean whose name escapes me. A storm is threatening to envelop us, but the Angel is deft and swift. He begins to sing. Ah, such a sound has never been heard by the rich and greedy of my hometown! The Angel is perfection, made into a body and a voice. The words he sings are not in my language, but I understand. He sings of music, and of great creations, and all things perfect. This song is such dulcet and harmonious breath that the rude sea grows civil. The Angel continues to fly, and to sing, and I hear him in my sleep and smile.

Soon we reach land. Were I to awaken, I would have recognised this place. The Angel's singing is very soft now, for my ears alone, that I should stay asleep. He sees his destination and banks his wings, as though to land. He does not stay upon the ground, but sinks through it, far underground, to a lake that has never seen the sun. He skims across it, no longer singing, and softly calls, "Erik!"

On the shore of the lake, a man is sitting by a beautiful church organ, but this is not a church. His head is resting in his hands, and he is praying that his Angel will have found help for his soul. His head lifts as he hears the perfect voice call his name, and one can see that one part of his face is covered in a mask of the Angel's white. The look of despair is no longer on his face. Instead, there is hope, something he has rarely ever seen.

"Angel," he breathes, "have you found her?"

"I have, Erik," the Angel replies, coming to rest near him. Erik stands, and his eyes fall upon my sleeping face.

"She is beautiful," he whispers, looking back up into the face of his Angel. "Thank you!"

The Angel smiles kindly. "She prayed for you, Erik. I heard her crying, and she asked for a love. She asked for someone to love her as she was, not to judge her appearance. She asked for one broken soul to be able to find another. She has been hurt very deeply, my Erik, and she has been alone for her entire life. Be good to her, and you can heal each other."

Erik puts out his arms timidly, and the Angel hands him my sleeping form. Erik clasps me to him, gently, yet desperately. A tear falls from his eye and leaves a streak down his face. The Angel's hand dries it. His perfect lips leave a kiss on the forehead of Erik, and the cheek of me. The Angel whispers my name to Erik, and steps back. He begins to fade, and Erik watches him. He is unable to look away from me long. He looks back down, and sees my lids flutter. He leaves his own shy kiss on my lips, and whispers, "I love you."

_Fin._


End file.
